


You Make This All Go Away

by NatiaRebmik



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Angst, Hope vs. Despair, M/M, share my bed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 03:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9529904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatiaRebmik/pseuds/NatiaRebmik
Summary: Sleepless in Jedha... Chirrut needs Baze more than ever.(Inadvertent rhyming...)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Story title is taken from ['Something I Can Never Have'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WAGAoy5WZWY) by Nine Inch Nails,from the 1989 album, Pretty Hate Machine.

“Lay with me.”

It sounded like a simple request, but for Baze Malbus it was a loaded statement. Such requests from Chirrut were rare these days. It wasn’t that they didn’t enjoy the close proximity of each other, but more out of necessity that they slept apart. Baze slept mostly propped up on an old, overstuffed armchair of sorts. Its torn fabric had been patched at multiple times throughout its life; however bantha hair still sprung from straining stitches. He would stretch out his legs, feet still encased in heavy leather boots although he would remove his armour. And although his heavy repeater cannon would be carefully laid on the floor, tucked between the side of the armchair and the roughly hewn wall of their small hut, Baze kept a blaster against his right thigh. Security was not something they could not take for granted any more. Imperial occupation had meant random raids on domestic dwellings, and Baze for one was not taking any chances. In fact sleeping was a luxury these days, as he more ‘rested’, rather than slept. His body and mind were constantly in a state of readiness, waiting for the now all too familiar clatter of trooper plasti-armour outside the door that lead directly onto Jedha’s ancient cobbled streets. His finger was always on the trigger, as it were.

Chirrut in comparison had the only bed, if that is what you could call it. More accurately it was a mess of blankets and cushions arranged on the floor, lumpy, hard and unyielding however markedly more comfortable than the stone floor beneath. When they first squatted in the small hut, almost a year ago, Baze had insisted on Chirrut taking the makeshift divan. He reasoned that at least one of them needed to be on the nightwatch, and as his recent assassin experience had necessitated long-spells of sleep deprivation he was clearly the most obvious choice. He also argued that Chirrut worked harder than he, throughout the day. Panhandling fortunes for credits, and divulging animated stories of the Jedi long-gone, was mentally draining work. He needed to rest his tired body, and quiet his mind, so that he could pull them through another day. Secretly though Baze felt an unexplained and mislaid guilt for their current living conditions, and abject loss of all that they had held faith in. More specifically Chirrut’s faith, as Baze had long renounced his belief in The Force and all its afflictions. The only faith he could find solace in was the solid bulk of a blaster.... and Chirrut. Always Chirrut.

What Chirrut didn’t confide in Baze, was that he knew why he had been given the bed. He felt the despair emanate from his partner, and the wretched guilt for a fault that he didn’t own. As much as Chirrut wanted to take Baze in his arms, and reassure him that none of this was his fault, he knew it was futile. The ministrations and prayers that he so desperately wanted to whisper into Baze’s ear, remained silent on his lips. He knew that they would not be well received, and would be met with a derisive snort. So he kept silent, and graciously accepted the bed, although Chirrut missed the warmth and comfort of his partner. The absence of Baze’s bulk, and Chirrut’s secretive dismay at their seemingly desperate situation despite his outwardly unwavering faith, lead to a shared insomnia. The blind monk would lay on his back, eyes closed but mind whirling with prayer and devotions, willing for the morning to allow him to ‘awaken’.

This night however, Chirrut could not concentrate on his invocations. The day had been a difficult one, with limited pedalling success. The pilgrims were almost non-existent of recent times, as the ever oppressive presence of the Empire served as a deterrent. The omnipotent star destroyer that hung like a sinister sentinel over the city of NiJedha, shrouded the residents in a perpetual gloom. Money was tight, and charity was all but extinct. What little credits people had, were cautiously guarded and certainly not wasted on such follies as fortune telling and divination. Baze was the treasurer in the relationship, keeping a close eye on their finances. Chirrut knew though that times were tight, and their meagre savings were fast dwindling.  
The force, while constantly moving and shifting, seemed to be becoming progressively stagnant and murky. Chirrut found it increasingly difficult some days to move through the swirling gloom. It clung to him, smothering his effervescent hope and buoyant optimism. Although he knew that all was as the force willed it, Chirrut became more despondent struggling to maintain his idealistic attitude. It flooded his nocturnal introspection, so much so the wretchedness began to leak through the chinks in his monastic armour.

Baze knew.  
Although he had shirked his spiritual obligations, he still could perceive Chirrut’s despair and disquiet. He knew that the request was not as simple as taking to the bed, to lay beside his companion.  
Chirrut’s voice rang out in the darkness of the night yet again.

“Lay with me, Baze.”

**Author's Note:**

> My writing is heavily influenced by music... I've recently bowed to Tumblr pressure - [Natia Rebmik](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/natia-rebmik).


End file.
